Why The Road Turns
by we built sandcastles
Summary: As the summer comes to a close, Santana and Brittany enter their senior year together. Season 3, Brittana-centric, some canon. I do not own the characters in this story other than my own OCs. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

As the sun set on a mid-August evening in Ohio, a 1992 Chevy station wagon that had seen better days trudged past a _Welcome to Lima_ sign. The early evening breeze blew through the windows, making it unusually cold and causing everyone in the car to shiver involuntarily. A nine-year-old girl peered up from her colouring book to ask her father an important question.

"Are we there yet?"

"Soon, honey. Why don't you just appreciate the scenery? Look around, isn't nature incredible?"

If there was one thing Brittany Pierce hated, it was family car trips. They were always the worst part of her family's annual vacation to Virginia Beach. They always took hours, and her father always insisted on finding the "scenic route" and forcing his entire family to "appreciate the scenery", while her mother attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to describe the scenery and her younger sister, Tiffany, complained and asked "are we there yet" every five minutes. Every year she wished they would fly instead of drive, and every year it was always the same answer. It wasn't like they went anywhere exciting; it was always the same trip to Virginia Beach to visit her father's side of the family. It didn't help that Brittany's best friend, Santana, who, despite almost always falling asleep the second the car moved, usually kept her company on various family vacations, had to spend the summer working at the community pool and begrudgingly spending time with her father in Cincinnati leaving Brittany stuck with her younger sister and cousins. The vacation itself wasn't bad; she loved the beach, and her sister and cousins were fine, even if they could be annoying sometimes, but she vastly preferred Santana's company over just getting her text messages, even though Santana had texted her every day and sent her hilarious voice messages. Still, the voice messages weren't the same as the real thing. Brittany closed her eyes and pictured the night before she left for vacation; it had been Santana's seventeenth birthday. The two of them had gone to the movies, prank-called at least three of their former cheerleading teammates, attempted to bake cupcakes, and when that didn't work, they went to bed …

_Warm, summer air. Black, silky sheets pulled back. Chocolate-coloured eyes raising slightly to rest on sky-blue ones. Bare, olive hands meeting pale ones. Lungs inhaling sharply, soft, pillowy lips coming closer and …_

"Are we almost home?" Tiffany asked, her loud, high-pitched voice ruining Brittany's daydream.

Brittany groaned. "Tiff, we're like five minutes away from our house," she said, impatiently. They had just driven into town, and she was eager to get out of the car. "Dad, could you please drop me off at…"

Mr Pierce cut her off. "If I drop you off at Santana's place, you have to help me unpack the car tomorrow morning. Is that a deal?"

Brittany smiled. "Sure."

Santana's house was in a different part of town to Brittany's, almost on the outskirts, but the two had been best friends since they met in first grade, almost instantly. Brittany knew the way to Santana's house better than the way to school, or to Virginia Beach. Mr Pierce pulled into Young Street, Lima Heights Adjacent, and parked in front of a terrace house.

Brittany grabbed her bag and bolted from the car, almost forgetting to unbuckle her seatbelt and shut the door. She could hear her sister whining that she couldn't go too, and her parents placating her with promises of takeaway food, but she didn't care. She ran excitedly to the front door, knocked loudly and waited to be let in, trying to feign patience.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the door opened. Brittany grinned as Santana's mother greeted her and offered her food. Maribel Lopez was a small woman, but tough and energetic. Brittany's mother would have probably described her as "vivacious" or "bubbly". Mrs Pierce was rather fond of adjectives; Brittany envied her ability to always find a word to describe any person, place or situation in any circumstance.

"And how was the beach?" Maribel asked. "You look like you've had a bit of a tan. I'm jealous!"

Brittany laughed. "It was okay. Tiffany probably had more fun than I did."

"Just okay?" Maribel asked. "I'm sure you had a more productive holiday than my daughter did. She's _still_ in bed."

Before Brittany could respond, a familiar voice retorted, "No I'm not." Brittany turned around to find an obviously freshly showered Santana grinning back at her. She recognised the familiar scent of honey vanilla shampoo, and a hint of the bedroom eyes that had been ingrained in her memory throughout the last few weeks.

Maribel laughed. "You're up early," she said sarcastically. "It's practically dinner time. You go back to school in a couple days."

Santana shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever." She turned to Brittany and asked, "When did you get back?"

"Just now. Couldn't get out of the car fast enough. Tiffany wouldn't stop asking if we were there yet." Brittany answered, laughing. "The beach was good, though."

Maribel retired to the couch in front of the evening news and asked, "Brittany, you're staying, aren't you?"

Brittany nodded. The two of them stayed over at each other's houses so frequently that the question barely ever needed to be asked anymore. As Maribel retreated to the living room, Santana grabbed a bag of Doritos and a jar of tomato salsa and ran upstairs, gesturing for Brittany to join her in her bedroom. Brittany liked Santana's bedroom; it was the complete opposite of her own, but it had a level of organised chaos that she appreciated. A pile of DVDs was stacked on the desk next to Santana's computer, while clothes were strewn across a small corner of the room.

"So, how was your summer?" Brittany asked, looking at Santana properly for the first time that evening. She noticed her friend had the pinched, unhealthy look of someone who hadn't eaten or slept a lot in a few weeks. Santana had spent years trying to cultivate an outgoing, popular persona, but she was really a bit of a homebody. Brittany liked that about her.

"It was fine," Santana said. "I got Coach Sue kicked out of the pool like ten times, and Quinn got with this forty-year-old skater dude and then broke up with him _at the pool_ and threw an iced coffee at him. Oh, and Finn tried to get a tan and ended up looking like Mr Krabs." She pulled out her phone to show Brittany the photos. Brittany grinned. Both of them found Finn Hudson extremely full of himself, so to see him incredibly sunburned made her laugh.

"And how was … Cincinnati?" Brittany asked, almost regretfully. Santana didn't see much of her father by choice. Brittany didn't know him well, either, other than the fact that he was a doctor. She'd met him at things like their elementary school graduation, and their middle school graduation. He and Santana's mother had divorced a little over ten years earlier, which was why Santana and her mother had moved to Lima Heights Adjacent, and why Santana had met Brittany in first grade at St Mary's School all those years ago.

~.~

* * *

_Brittany was ecstatic. Finally, there would be a real person sitting in the seat next to her in Mrs Sheldon's class, instead of an empty space where a person should be._

"_Class," Mrs Sheldon had said. "We have a new student here today. This is Santana. She has just moved here from Cincinnati. Let's make her feel welcome."_

_Brittany grinned as Mrs Sheldon gestured Santana to the empty seat next to Brittany. She looked Santana up and down, trying to make sure that her new desk partner wouldn't notice. Brittany thought Santana was extremely pretty, one of the prettiest people or things Brittany had ever seen, with her long dark hair, dimples and big brown eyes._

"_Hi, I'm Brittany" she whispered, as she noticed the girl was wearing a multicoloured scarf. "I like your scarf."_

_The new girl smiled. "Thanks."_

_Brittany smiled back. "Do you want to be friends?"_

"_Yeah."_

~.~

* * *

"It was Cincinnati." Santana said, shrugging. "It's not even out of the state. It's not exciting like Virginia Beach."

Brittany laughed. "Va Beach isn't _that _exciting. Why, what happened?"

Santana inhaled slowly, and answered, "Nothing really. Just the usual 'you don't try hard enough at school' and 'this is your _senior year_, don't mess it up' and all that crap. He _did _try to teach me how to 'drink wine', like I didn't know. It was _painful_. I think I'm going to use senior year as an excuse to get out of seeing him."

"You're going to be all studious and go to medical school?" Brittany laughed, playfully throwing a pillow at Santana.

Santana threw the pillow back at Brittany. "I'm going to be a model student this year. No afternoon detentions, no truancy …"

"National championships in glee club and cheerleading?"

As the pillow ended up on the floor, Santana seriously pondered the idea of sainthood for an entire year; it did seem impossible. Even Rachel Berry got drunk at school once. "It's not going to work, is it Britt?"

Brittany shrugged. "I mean, if all else fails, I do like the idea of you working at the pool," she laughed. "Think about it; you get to go there for free any time you want _and_ you look really hot in the lifeguard uniform."

**Thanks for reading chapter one. This is essentially a Brittana-centric rewrite of season 3. There will be some canon stuff in the next chapter and subsequent chapters. I haven't written any fic in a really long time so this might be a bit rusty but do welcome any and all feedback. I work full time but will try to update as frequently as possible.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Why do you always manage to leave your school shopping till the last minute?" Whitney Pierce asked, holding three clean towels in one hand and her younger daughter's orange backpack in the other. "You're in your senior year. Time to get organised."

"We were busy," Brittany protested, seated at the breakfast table with messy hair, still in pyjamas from the previous night. "We only just got home a week ago. Anyway, we have to do it together, it's tradition."

"Yes, and as you recall, I managed to do all of Tiff's school shopping in that time." Whitney replied. "Do you want me to drive you to the mall?"

"Mom, it's fine. I'm going to Santana's eye doctor thing with her and then we're going school shopping," Brittany answered. "She's meeting me here first."

"Well then, get in the shower and get dressed."

Brittany finished her toast and left the breakfast table, calling out, "Fine, but Tiff left a mess in the bathroom."

"Did not!" Tiffany called out from upstairs.

"Tiffany, when your sister gets out of the shower, you're going to clean up your mess in the bathroom!" Whitney yelled out to her younger daughter. She turned to Brittany and asked, "Can you go up and tell her?"

"Mom, I think she heard you." Brittany answered, shrugging as she walked upstairs, leaving her mother to eat her breakfast in solitude before Tiffany would come downstairs, wondering why the toast was cold, and a knock would come from the back kitchen door.

Tiffany bolted to answer the door. She opened it to find Santana, wearing ripped jeans and a black Lima Community Pool sweatshirt. "Hey Tiff, how were your holidays?"

Before Tiffany could launch into a long story about the tan she got and the shells she found at Virginia Beach, Whitney came to the door. "You've been here all this time and you _still_ left it to the last minute to buy your school stuff?"

Santana laughed. "It's tradition," she protested. "I was already going to the mall anyway. Apparently I need glasses."

Tiffany gasped with excitement. "Do you?" She asked, excitedly, waving three fingers up in the air. "How many fingers?"

Whitney stifled a giggle. "I hope you didn't drive here," she said, concerned. "You can stay here tonight, you're totally welcome."

Tiffany cleared her throat, not appreciating being interrupted. "How many fingers?"

"Three," Santana answered, after concentrating on Tiffany's hand for a few seconds. "But if I don't look properly at your hand it looks like you have nine fingers."

Tiffany burst out laughing as Brittany walked into the kitchen, fully dressed. Whitney said, "All right, are you two ready to go? Do you want a lift?"

"No, we're fine." Brittany answered.

"All right, have a good time. Don't get arrested!"

"Mom, who do you think we are?" Brittany asked.

"I'm just saying, I heard at the hair salon that Quinn started dating a forty-year-old, and _smoking_, and it's only a matter of time …"

"It's fine, Quinn basically cut herself off from society and doesn't talk to anyone." Santana said, shrugging.

"I mean, not that either of you would look _bad _with pink hair, but it's just …"

"Mom, what the hell?" Brittany laughed, ushering herself and Santana out the door. "Bye!"

Both girls got in the car, looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"So, how _did_ you get here?" Brittany asked.

"My dad," Santana answered, gloomily. "He's in town for a week, possibly longer."

"Why?" Brittany asked, frowning.

"No idea. Some course, I think. He's not staying with us, thank god, but he keeps trying to force the whole father-daughter-time crap on me."

"How did you get out of it?"

"This optometrist appointment is seriously the only reason I'm not listening to a lecture on college applications right now."

~.~

* * *

"They look fine." Brittany said in a reassuring tone. Santana wasn't quite so convinced. They had been sitting outside the optometrist's office for ten minutes, examining every detail of Santana's new glasses in a mirror. "They just look like glasses. Everyone has them."

"You don't. Quinn doesn't. My mom doesn't," Santana protested. "Just me and my dad and his crap DNA. You know, my _abuela_ still has really good vision? Like 20/20? That bitch can still hand-sew without a magnifying glass."

"Well, now you can see, _and _you can drive," Brittany pointed out. "Can we go to Target now? I want to colour-coordinate everything this year."

"Are you sure they look okay?" Santana asked, still not convinced.

Brittany smiled and whispered, "I think they make you look really hot. Like sexy professor hot."

"Fine," Santana said, trying to mask her obvious blushing. "But only because you're secretly jealous."

"It's not a secret," Brittany laughed. "I think glasses are hot. Mostly on you, but probably on me too."

Before Santana could respond, she noticed a familiar pink-haired person drawing graffiti on the sign outside the bookstore. She gestured to Brittany, who noticed that it was Quinn. Brittany hadn't pegged Quinn to be the type to get an alternative haircut, or piercings or anything. Secretly, she thought the hairstyle looked good on Quinn.

Quinn noticed her two estranged friends, too. Holding her cigarette packet, she walked over to them. "Nice glasses," she said, without a hint of sincerity.

"Nice hair," Santana retorted. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Quinn replied, in an almost-friendly tone. "Get up to anything this summer? You know, besides being the absolute _worst _person to get high with?"

"_What?"_ Brittany asked, incredulously, turning to a guilty-looking Santana.

"Don't worry, Britt, she probably won't make a habit of it. She was super paranoid the whole time," Quinn said, laughing. "Spent the whole time talking about her parents and how Sue's going to murder her for kicking her out of the pool and how long it's been since she's kissed you, you know, cause she's basically in love with you."

Santana rolled her eyes at Quinn, shaking her head out of frustration and annoyance. "Are you finished? Don't you have a forty-year-old to make out with or something?"

"Blaze and I broke up," Quinn answered, unamused. "I'm dating Spider now, but I think I'm going to dump him. I don't want to be tied down. Anyway, I've got things to do. Later."

Santana and Brittany looked at each other perplexedly as Quinn left them. After several awkward moments, Brittany turned to Santana and asked, "So, did you actually smoke weed with Quinn?"

Santana shook her head. "Well, not on purpose, anyway. And I technically didn't smoke it. I went to her house once after work cause her mom was at work and she'd just broken up with Blaze for the first time. She gave me these brownies. I ate like six of them, thinking they were just normal brownies, and she had some too. Turns out Blaze gave them to her, and she was desperate to get rid of them. Anyway, apparently I said some stuff. I don't know exactly. I think she's exaggerating."

Brittany just shrugged. "She's so weird," she said. "But I mean, cool, but next time, get high with me instead."

Santana nodded in agreement. "I think that would be more fun."

~.~

* * *

The two girls managed to buy all of their school supplies and, for the first time in four years, successfully avoided being death-stared by Sue Sylvester, who must have been kicked out of the mall as well as the pool. But before they could celebrate their achievement, Santana's phone started to ring, her face falling as she saw who the call was from.

"Britt, I have to take this. It's my dad."

Brittany nodded, pretending to look busy as she overheard Santana feign interest in her dad's conversation.

"Dad, I'm at the mall with Brittany, what's going on?"

"_Why aren't you home?"_

Santana frowned. "Because I'm at the mall with Brittany. I just said that."

"_Don't talk back to me. I thought you'd be home. When will you be home?"_

"I don't know," Santana answered, honestly. "I'm staying at Britt's tonight. Mom said it was okay."

"_And you didn't think to tell me that?"_

What Santana wanted to say was, "I don't live with you," but what came out was, "Sorry Dad."

"_Did you finish your summer reading list?"_

"Dad, you were with me when I finished it. It's fine."

"_Well, your grades were pretty ordinary last year. Maybe if you spent a bit more time on your homework and less on running around New York they'd be higher. College is a really competitive game."_

"Okay, I'll try harder, then," Santana answered, hastily, deciding not to add that she was only in New York because of an extracurricular activity she was excelling in. She decided that the quicker she could get out of the conversation, the better. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"_Fine. And make sure you do your homework first thing when you get home tomorrow."_

Santana hung up the phone, her ears red and glasses fogging up. She and Brittany got into the car. Neither of them said anything until they got home, mumbling to Whitney about already eating dinner at the mall. They waited until they got into Brittany's bed before Brittany broke the silence.

"Are you okay?" She asked, stroking Santana's wrists and hands.

Santana nodded. "I mean, he's a jerk. But I get rid of him soon, so he can go back to being a workaholic and I can go back to pretending he doesn't exist."

~.~

* * *

**A/N: I apologise that this chapter took so long after the first one. I wanted this to be updated more frequently but my job started getting super busy. The chapters after this one will start where S03E01 starts. Thanks to anyone reading this for your patience.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Warning: This chapter contains drug references, reader discretion is advised. _

After three months, it was hard to get back into a routine of getting up and going to school. The sound of Santana's cellphone sent her from being comfortably tangled up with Brittany's body to jolting upright, hitting her head hard against the headboard of Brittany's bed in the process. "Shit!" She hissed, trying not to wake anyone up. She picked up the phone; even without her new glasses, she could make out the words 'Dad cell', and she rolled her eyes, contemplating whether or not she could get away with letting it ring out. Brittany started rubbing circles on her back as she took the call, knowing her father would try calling all day if he had to. "Yeah?" She said, sleepily.

"_Is that seriously how you answer the phone? What time do you call this?"_

"I don't know. Sorry Dad, you just kind of surprised me," Santana yawned, still wincing in pain from the headboard. "Can I call you back? I just hit my head."

She could hear her father scoff through the phone, and she couldn't wait for the conversation to be over. _"Do you have a concussion?"_

"I don't know," Santana answered, rolling her eyes. _How the fuck am I supposed to know_, she thought. "Probably not."

"_Well then, you're fine. Stop whining. You need to fix your attitude."_

"Okay, good talk Dad," Santana said, sarcastically, not wanting to hear his response but knowing full well she was going to hear about it later. "Bye." She hung up the phone, lay back on the bed and winced as Brittany gently massaged the spot where she'd hit her head.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asked, taking Santana's head in her lap and continuing to massage it. "You hit your head pretty hard."

"I'm fine. Your headboard just came out of nowhere. Damn, what time is it?"

Brittany reached over and grabbed her phone. "6:15. Why?"

"Great," Santana said, sarcastically. "He fucking woke me up for no reason."

Brittany laughed. "We don't have to get up for forty-five minutes. We could just lie in bed."

"I guess. You know, we don't _have _to go to school, Britt."

"So much for being a saint this year," Brittany chuckled, playing with Santana's hair. "Did Coach Sue make you rejoin the Cheerios too?"

"I had no choice," Santana said, punching a pillow in frustration. "She cornered me in the grocery store after she got banned from the pool. I couldn't exactly say no."

Brittany frowned. "But you're doing glee club and track team, and then there's school…"

Santana shrugged. "All the more reason not to see Daddy Dearest. Besides, track's easy. Mike and I trained some over the break."

Brittany took in a deep breath. Something had been on her mind, and she wasn't sure how to address it. "Santana," she said. She breathed sharply, her blue eyes meeting Santana's deep brown eyes. "How are we going to go about, um, you and me, you know, at school?"

Brittany watched as Santana sat up, stared at her pillow and fidgeted with it. "Britt," she said, softly. "Britt, I'm gay."

Brittany smiled. "Thank you for telling me that. You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah," Santana said, nodding. "Yeah, I love you too. I just, um, I just don't want anyone else to know. At least not now."

Brittany just shrugged and said, "I'm okay with that. Besides, we're awesome and we'd just make everyone jealous of our awesomeness."

~.~

* * *

Sitting in AP Chemistry next to pink-haired, sarcastic, stoned Quinn Fabray was Santana's personal idea of hell.

"Still can't believe you went back to Sue like a normie." Quinn laughed.

"I can't believe _you_ turned up to school high," Santana retorted, quietly. "And who the fuck says 'normie'? Did hanging out with forty-year-olds rub off on you? Anyway, are you going to insult me or are you going to actually make yourself useful for once?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "If you want green, you're going to need to wait. Spider's good and I'm going over to his place tonight."

Santana frowned with confusion. _What the hell is this bitch talking about,_ she thought. "I'm not talking about _weed_, you idiot," she said. "What, does your entire life revolve around being a stoner now?"

"I'm listening," Quinn said, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want?"

"Sue's officially lost her mind."

Quinn laughed. "Did she have one to begin with?"

"She wants me to burn down a piano."

"Well, what's she going to do to you if you don't?" Quinn asked.

"I don't know," Santana said. "It's Sue. We've known her for three years, she's insane. Who the hell knows anymore?"

In the back of her mind, Santana knew one thing Sue was absolutely capable of. _"You like playing both sides"_, she had said, her cold eyes burning into Santana's, peering into her soul.

"So, you want _me _to burn down the piano?" Quinn asked, confused. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"I can't say I've ever intentionally burned anything, Quinn," Santana said. She was frustrated and starting to rethink the whole idea. The only thing that kept her from telling Quinn to call the whole thing off was the knowledge that Sue Sylvester was unpredictable and could potentially ruin her life. "Look, just figure something out. You're smart. I trust you."

Santana knew that even when high, Quinn was susceptible to having her ego stroked.

"Fine," Quinn said. "But don't go all emo on me if it ends badly."

"_You're_ going to accuse _me_ of going all emo?"

"Hey Santana?"

"What?"

"Blow me."

Santana rolled her eyes. "You fucking wish."

~.~

* * *

Just as Brittany was about to leave her English class, a stranger tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me?" Brittany turned around and looked at the girl. "You're Brittany S Pierce. _Fondue for Two_ is my favourite thing ever! I found out about it when I was in Maui and I've been obsessed with it ever since."

Brittany frowned. She sometimes forgot just how wide her reach was with her show. "Thanks." She said.

"I'm Sugar Motta," the girl said, excitedly holding her hand out for Brittany to shake. "My mom and dad are really busy all the time, so he just lets me fly wherever in the summer, and sometimes it gets really boring. Your show literally saved my vacation."

"Lord Tubbington will be really happy," Brittany said, beaming. "Wait till I tell him he has fans!"

"Anyway, I've got to go," Sugar said. "Hey, listen, you're in glee club, right?"

When Brittany nodded, Sugar added, "When do I find out if I got in?"

"Not sure," Brittany said. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and went to grab it. She read a message that said, _Something came up, meet me after lunch. Don't go to quad, don't want you to get in trouble. S xxx_. She frowned, and absentmindedly told Sugar, "Mr Schue's super disorganised. Just go find him. Everyone gets in, he'll let you in for sure."

Sugar, feeling satisfied at her chances, skipped off to meet her friends for lunch, while Brittany re-read Santana's text, disappointed. They always ate lunch together. Even last year when things got weird and she was dating Artie, lunch was their sacred thing that they just always did together. Something was wrong, and she wanted to know what it was.

She went to her locker to put her stuff away when Mike, Tina and Mercedes made a beeline for her. "Where _were _you?" Mercedes asked. "You missed a _show_!"

Brittany frowned. "What happened?"

"You know how Kurt got Blaine to transfer here?" Mike asked, and Brittany nodded. "He wanted to sing this song and do the Carlton dance, and one of the purple pianos was right in the middle of the quad."

"Yeah, and _your_ homegirl got up and did it with him. I can't believe you missed it." Mercedes interjected, making Brittany confused. Since when did Santana do the Carlton dance without her?

"So anyway, long story short, Quinn _burned down the piano_! Can you believe it?" Tina asked, incredulously, not noticing Brittany's eyebrows started to disappear into her hairline. "Mr Schue's going to be _mad_!"

_I have to find her_, Brittany thought. "That's nice guys, but I've got to go."

As she ran off, Tina and Mercedes just looked at each other. "I thought she _liked_ hearing our gossip." Tina said softly. Mike and Mercedes shrugged.

Brittany found Santana in the Cheerios' bathroom, splashing water on her face. "What happened to _you_?" She asked, taking in the soot covering the left side of Santana's face, and her seemingly half-missing eyebrow. She took a towel from the towel rack, put it under the faucet and gently mopped Santana's face with it. "Tina and Mercedes said something about a burning piano?"

"If anyone asks, you didn't know about it." Santana said, her eyes glued to the floor.

"Are you hurt?" Brittany asked, softly.

"It's just my eyebrow. I'm fine," Santana said, still avoiding eye contact with Brittany. "I'm sorry, Britt."

Brittany shrugged. "I mean, it wasn't one of your better ideas," she said. "Why, though?"

"Sue said I had to," Santana answered. It was partially truthful. She didn't want to admit to Brittany just how scared Sue had made her. "How bad does it look?"

"Like you're missing a chunk of your eyebrow." Brittany answered.

"Great." Santana said, sarcastically. She put her glasses on and stared at her reflection in the mirror, scowling at the bald spot on her eyebrow.

"Come on, we should probably get to rehearsal," Brittany said. "Everyone's going to be wondering where we are."

When they got up and left the bathroom, they found Blaine Anderson waiting outside. "Britt, I'll see you in there, okay?" Santana told Brittany, who nodded and went to the choir room. She looked at Blaine and scowled. "Can I help you, Warbler?"

"I've been looking for you everywhere. I just wanted to thank you for helping me out with that performance. Everyone's been talking about it." Blaine said softly, a little intimidated.

"Well listen," Santana said, leaning closer to Blaine so no one could hear them. "If anyone asks, you had no idea about the piano. Got it?"

Blaine frowned. "I, um, I don't understand …"

"Yep, _exactly_ like that." Santana said. Blaine still looked puzzled, and she rolled her eyes. "Look, it's just easier for both of us if you just do your whole innocent private school boy schtick and act like the whole thing was an accident."

"Wait, it wasn't?" Blaine asked, wondering what kind of weird school he'd just let his parents agree to transfer him to.

"Don't ask questions, Warbler. If you want to make a good impression, the less you know about the piano, the better. Okay?" Santana snapped. Blaine nodded. If Santana wasn't missing half an eyebrow, he'd have probably found the situation amusing. "This fucking year's already going spectacularly well. I should just drop out and join a cult or something."

"That's a bit extreme," Blaine said. He thought she seemed weirdly stressed, and he knew there had to be something more than just the piano, but he decided not to push it. "Hey, if you want me to make a good impression, we should probably get going now."

Santana tried to mentally convince herself that Mr Schue would just brush it off, like he did with all the other weird things people in that glee club did. But it didn't happen. He was disappointed, he was angry, and he made it clear that she wasn't going to be welcome in that room anymore, at least for a while. She didn't exactly blame him; burning a piano in the middle of the school grounds definitely wasn't her smartest decision. She didn't have anything else to do besides waiting outside her locker for Brittany to turn up. Eventually the glee kids were dismissed; she couldn't make eye contact with anyone coming outside of the choir room, and she didn't know why she was surprised that Brittany didn't just ignore her.

"Hey," Brittany said. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Santana answered, not looking at Brittany. "Should I, like, go find him and apologise?"

Brittany shrugged. "It's up to you. He's still in there. He usually stays there and marks papers."

"How do you know that?"

"Remember that one time I took all my antibiotics and forgot how to leave?" Brittany said, causing Santana to crack a slight smile. They walked down the hallway to the choir room; Santana tentatively knocked on the door but stayed in the entrance, not wanting to physically be inside of the choir room.

"Mr Schue?"

Mr Schuester briefly looked up from the papers he was marking. "What's up, Santana?"

Santana cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and fixated on the linoleum floor. "I just wanted to apologise for what happened to the piano," she said, feeling more and more embarrassed as Mr Schue's head lifted and his eyes tried to meet her own. "That's, um, that's all I wanted to say." She and Brittany left before Mr Schuester could respond.

"There's a party tonight," Brittany said. "It's at Kurt's place, his parents are out."

Santana laughed, awkwardly. "Thanks Britt, but I'm probably _persona non grata_ right now."

"What does that even mean?" Brittany asked, frowning.

"It _means _me showing up wouldn't really be such a good idea." Santana said.

"Do you want me to keep you company?" Brittany asked. "We could have a movie night, or go to Breadstix, or make prank calls."

"Thanks Britt, but you should go have fun with everyone. I'll be fine."

Brittany nodded sympathetically. They walked together to Brittany's car, resolving to talk about anything except glee club. Brittany pulled up outside Santana's house and hugged her. "See you tomorrow."

"Love you Britt."

"Love you too."

As Brittany's car left the kerb, Santana watched it, waiting until it had turned the corner before pulling out her phone and dialling a number. "Hey," she said. "You doing anything tonight?"

~.~

* * *

About twenty minutes into the party, Brittany decided that Santana had had the right idea by passing on it.

"Do you think I should audition with something from _West Side Story_ or something more left field?" Rachel asked Kurt, enthusiastically, attached to Finn's arm like an overgrown koala.

"It doesn't matter, Rachel. You and I are _guaranteed_ leads." Kurt replied.

"I wonder if the Ohio secretary of state would let me change my middle name to Maria." Rachel said.

Meanwhile, Artie was telling everyone who would listen about the new camera he had bought over the summer.

"I'm already working on a short film. My aunt Teresa just got a poodle and I'm documenting the life of the poodle. Like every day, I film the poodle for two, three minutes tops."

Brittany rolled her eyes. He was nice enough, but she found herself wondering how they had ever dated for as long as they had. She was grateful that Mercedes came over to her to have a chat; _finally_ someone who could have a normal conversation that didn't involve poodles.

"Hey Britt," Mercedes said. "Where's your homegirl?"

"At her house," Brittany answered. "She said she didn't feel like coming. Said she thought everyone was probably pissed at her and it was a good idea if she didn't come."

"She was probably right about that," Finn interjected, loudly. "I mean, who sets a fire in the middle of school, anyway? That's just dumb."

"Santana and Quinn, apparently." Mercedes answered, her tone of voice making Brittany laugh. "Look, I know I said we needed to get some allegiance back in there, and I was right about that, but also Sue Sylvester is _crazy_. I don't know why y'all went back to the squad after that cannon thing."

"They have scholarships," Kurt explained. "But part of the conditions of the scholarships is that they have to be on the squad."

Mercedes nodded. "I get that. That makes sense. College is _expensive_," she said. "Have you thought about what you want to do?"

Brittany shook her head. "That's why I'm hoping for a scholarship."

"Girl, maybe I should have stayed on that squad too." Mercedes laughed. Brittany smiled. She got out her phone and typed, _This party sucks. Call me later. B XOXO._ She sent the message and waited for Santana to message her back, but she didn't. She was disappointed, but she figured that maybe Santana had just gone to bed early, or her phone died, or she wasn't checking her phone. That had to be it.

~.~

* * *

"Babe, you're hogging the blunt."

After spending an hour with Quinn and Spider, Santana desperately wished she'd taken Brittany up on her offer. It didn't matter how awkward that party would be; anything would have been better than being in Spider's derelict house and getting high with those two. Spider was an improvement on Blaze, Quinn's forty-year-old skateboarder ex-boyfriend, but Santana wouldn't have been caught dead with him had he not been giving her free weed and had his house not been closer to hers than Quinn's was. Spider handed her the blunt he'd taken from Quinn, which she accepted, and she inhaled deeply. She'd never smoked weed; she'd only ever had edibles and Puck's weed cupcakes, and so it went straight to her head. She was careful not to talk too much. She didn't want Quinn to make fun of her for being a lightweight.

"Still can't believe we burned the piano down," Quinn laughed. "Thanks for giving me that idea. I owe you one."

"Q, that was _not _fun," Santana whined. "And now everyone's pissed off with me."

"No! No way," Quinn said, playfully punching Santana on the shoulder. "_You _said you weren't going to go all emo on me. You're going all emo on me."

"Fuck you Fabray!"

"_Ladies_," Spider said, in a mock-scandalised tone, pretending to cover Quinn's ears. "This is a _family_ house. If the weed's not going to cheer you up, I've got harder stuff."

Santana frowned. "Like what?"

"You ever done a line?" Spider asked.

"Of _course_ I have!" Santana lied, almost too enthusiastically. The thought had crossed her mind, but she'd seen too many people on television get nosebleeds from coke that it had mostly put her off the idea. "I better not, though."

"You're smart," Spider said. He turned to Quinn and added, "I like your friend, babe. You should get her to hang out with us more often!"

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Santana said. "Have you got food? I'm starving."

Quinn's eyes widened. "You got the munchies too?"

Santana nodded. "Breadstix?" Quinn nodded in agreement. "Fuck, Q, how are we getting there? How am I going to get home?"

"Looks like you're going to have to crash here for the night, princess." Spider said, lighting a cigarette. He held out the packet to Santana, who declined it, and Quinn, who took one.

"Listen, Spider, can you make yourself useful and come with us to Breadstix?" Quinn asked. Spider just shrugged, grabbed a jacket and led the two girls outside.

They'd passed no more than two blocks before Santana noticed a police car following them. Her heart started racing; she wondered if Quinn and Spider could tell she was high, if the cops were going to know if she was high, or if the shrub on the street corner could tell she was high. She'd figured Spider had picked up on her anxiety, because he turned to her and quietly snarled, "Act natural!" The police car parked at the kerb and two officers got out and approached them.

"Good evening," one of the officers said. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and green eyes. "How are we tonight?"

Spider, ever the professional stoner, gave the girls a reassuring look. "Fine, officer. How are _you_ tonight?"

The other officer, a stockier, older man with greying hair and a beard, peered at Santana and asked, "You kids taken anything tonight?"

Quinn's solution was to play dumb. "No," she said. "No, I don't think we have."

"We were just going to get some food." Spider added.

The younger officer chuckled. "So, you don't mind if we search you then?"

Spider shrugged. "All's I got are cigarettes," he said. "Are cigarettes illegal?"

Santana watched the older officer roll his eyes and direct Quinn and Spider towards a fence outside the house they were standing in front of. Meanwhile, the younger officer grabbed her jacket a little too forcefully and pressed her against his car.

"Turn out your pockets."

"Huh?"

"I _said_," the officer snapped. "Turn out your _pockets_."

Santana complied, hoping the officer would be satisfied and let her go home. "Do you have an actual reason for this?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt her head smack hard against the roof of the car. She felt her vision go fuzzy as the police officer said, "If you're going to be a smartass about it, you can be a smartass down at the station cause I'm not putting up with your _fucking _crap!" The officer held her head against the car with one hand and searched her jacket pockets one at a time with the other. "Davis, this one's all clear."

"Good," the officer named Davis replied. "Don't let me catch any of you round here at this time of night again, you understand?"

The two girls and Spider nodded, grateful that the police were leaving and none of them were being arrested. As they drove off, the impact of her head on the car roof was starting to catch up to Santana. "_Shit_, that stings!"

"You still hungry?" Spider asked.

"Yeah, but I'm going home," Santana said as she winced from the impact. "Fuck, that guy was an asshole."

"All the pigs are, sweetheart." Spider said, completely monotone, as he put his arm around Quinn. Santana tried not to throw up watching Spider obviously feel Quinn up in front of her.

"Our guy wasn't _that _bad," Quinn replied. She turned to Santana and asked, "Want us to walk you home?"

Santana shook her head and started making her own way home., regretting the night more and more by the minute. Having her head smacked against the car might have sobered her up a bit, but she was still hungry, she had cotton mouth, her head hurt, she missed Brittany, she had no idea what she was going to do with her free time since she'd been kicked out of glee club, all her friends hated her, Sue was going to tell the entire school and possibly the entire world that she was gay, and to top it off, she was paranoid that everyone around her knew that she was high. She froze when she saw her mother's car in the driveway; either her mother had just got home from work, or she'd lost track of the time, but either way, she knew that her mother was going to know that she was high. Spider had told her to 'act natural', whatever that had meant.

"Mom, I'm home," Santana said. "How was work?"

Maribel Lopez frowned. "Where have _you_ been? It's late."

"Quinn's," Santana explained. "We just watched movies."

"Okay," Maribel replied, still puzzled. "But it's a school night. Was Brittany there?"

Santana shook her head. "She's at a party. I didn't feel like going."

Maribel nodded. "Are you feeling alright? You don't look well, _mija_"

"I'm fine," Santana said. "I've just got a headache.

"How bad is it?" Maribel asked, going to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and handing it to Santana.

"I'll live." Santana said softly.

"You sure that's all it is?" Maribel asked, frowning.

"Positive," Santana lied, giving her mother a goodnight kiss on the cheek before going to bed. "Goodnight _mami_."

As Santana closed her bedroom door, she felt the events of the day crashing down on her. She could feel her heart racing, every breath shakier and more laborious than the last, like she'd forgotten how to breathe. She couldn't feel her hands, but she could see them shaking violently. She desperately tried to control her breathing so to not wake up her mother downstairs, but it was impossible, and after all, she needed her mother to be awake in case she died, which, in that moment, felt completely plausible.

Her phone started vibrating, and her hands trembled as she pressed the green button to answer it. "Hello?" She managed to say through heavy breaths.

"_Santana_," Brittany answered. _"You didn't text me back and I got worried_."

"Britt." Santana hyperventilated. That was all she could say. In her head, she was saying, _I need you, I feel like I'm drowning, is this what a heart attack feels like because I think I'm dying right now_, but she'd fallen silent.

"_Is everything okay?"_ Brittany asked, softly. Santana didn't say anything; she was too busy trying and failing to regulate her own breathing. _"Hello?"_

"I'm here," Santana said, shakily. "I can't breathe, Britt. I need you."

"_Look out your window," _Brittany said. Santana complied, unfolded the blinds on her bedroom window and saw Brittany looking back at her. _"I'll be up in a minute."_

Sure enough, Brittany opened Santana's bedroom door. She took in Santana's paler complexion and the fact that she was still shaking and hyperventilating, and she instinctively knew to climb into Santana's bed, rub soothing circles on her back and run her fingers through her hair. "Just breathe with me, okay?" Brittany said. "Let me know if you want me to get your mom. She's still awake, she let me in."

"Britt, I'm sorry," Santana sobbed. "I ruined your night."

"Wait, why would you think that? I'd much rather be here with you than listen to Kurt and Rachel talk about how they just discovered Juilliard doesn't have a musical theatre program. Which … how did they not know that? Isn't Rachel's whole personality about how much she loves musicals? They're weird." Brittany rambled, smiling as she saw Santana start to smile and regulate her breathing. "See? I'm making you laugh. That's way more fun than Kurt's party."

~.~

* * *

It was official. The one thing worse than sitting next to pink-haired, stoned, sarcastic Quinn Fabray in AP chemistry class was sitting next to pink-haired, stoned, sarcastic Quinn in Mr Schuester's Spanish class first thing in the morning after being smacked against a police car. Everything was too loud and too bright, like the visual and aural embodiment of Rachel Berry. Even with glasses on, the worksheet Mr Schuester had placed in front of Santana was blurry. Her head was still throbbing from last night, and she couldn't keep track of what was going on, or what was being said.

"You look like shit." Quinn said.

"Thanks," Santana snapped sarcastically. "Getting your head whacked against a police car kind of does that to a person."

"Santana," Mr Schuester said, interrupting their conversation. "Can you please read the first paragraph of the worksheet for me?"

"What worksheet?"

"The one right in front of you that starts with 'Travel and Tourism'." Mr Schuester clarified. He saw Santana pick up the worksheet, trying to see if moving it closer to or further away from her face would make it less blurry and alternate between glasses and no glasses. He frowned; he generally knew which of his students not to ask to read aloud and he didn't think she was one of them, but he decided that it would just be easier and less time-consuming to get someone else to read it. "I guess not."

"_I'll _read it, Mr Schue." Quinn said, enthusiastically. She read the worksheet, and as Mr Schue launched into his discussion on tourism, she hissed into Santana's ear, "Get your shit together."

"I feel like shit."

"You probably have brain damage."

"That's _hilarious_."

The two of them continued to bicker and argue until the bell rang. Mr Schuester dismissed all the other students but kept Santana and Quinn in. He looked at the two of them and said, "Can the two of you please share with me what's so much more fascinating than learning about travel and tourism?"

"Absolutely nothing," Quinn answered, in a fake, sweet voice that made Santana nauseous. "It's the most fascinating thing in the world."

Mr Schuester shook his head in resignation. "Quinn, you're dismissed. You two are _not_ to sit together in future," He said. Quinn got up, flashed him a fake smile and left. He rolled his eyes, turned to Santana and added, "_You're_ not."

"What have I done now?" Santana slurred, without a hint of sarcasm. _I'll say the rosary with abuela a hundred times tonight if he lets me leave now and doesn't ask any questions_, she thought, desperately.

Mr Schuester frowned. He couldn't help but notice that her pupils were dilated, and he wondered if she'd turned up to school drunk; he thought she'd seemed receptive at the time when he lectured to the glee club kids about safe drinking, but then again, he didn't know enough about her outside the classroom to know if she had any common sense. 'Drunk' didn't seem like a good explanation to him, and nothing was adding up. "Is everything okay?" He asked. She shook her head slowly and carefully, wincing in the process. He added, "Do you need my help?"

"I don't know," Santana said, pathetically, hating herself for showing weakness in front of him. "Can I go now?"

Mr Schuester sighed. "Fine," he said, dejected. He grabbed a post-it and wrote her a quick note for her next teacher to explain her lateness. He watched her carefully stand up, gather her things and walk towards the door. "Santana?"

"What?"

"I accept your apology about the piano," Mr Schuester said, giving her a slight smile. "When you're ready to focus, we'll all be here. In the meantime, Artie's looking for people to audition for the musical."

Santana didn't say anything. At that point, she was too physically and emotionally exhausted to process anything Mr Schuester had just said. She arrived at her history class, handed her teacher her late note, took a seat in the back corner of the classroom, and tried to imagine a universe where her first week as a high school senior hadn't been a complete disaster.

~.~

* * *

**A/N: I apologise I haven't updated this recently. This chapter is essentially my bastardisation of the Purple Piano Project. Please R&R and I will try and upload my bastardisation of I Am Unicorn as soon as possible. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Guess what?" Brittany asked, excitedly. She was so happy Kurt had let her run his presidential campaign, and she'd been waiting until cheerleading practice to share her good news with Santana.

Santana couldn't help but grin. _Damn, she's cute when she's excited_, she thought. "What?"

"Kurt's going to let me run his campaign!" Brittany squealed. "He's running for president. I told him he was the biggest unicorn in the whole school."

"That's awesome, Britt," Santana replied, the smile on her face slowly falling as the two arrived at the oval, where Sue Sylvester was standing, lips pursed, arms folded. "_That _is _not _so awesome."

"Ladies! Glad you could join us!" Sue yelled into her megaphone, in a tone of voice aggressively suggesting that she was absolutely not glad at all. Santana and Brittany looked at each other, glumly, and went over to where the rest of the squad were training. As they arrived, Sue gestured for all the other cheerleaders to gather around, probably, Brittany and Santana thought, to listen to another one of her ridiculous speeches she often liked to give.

"Fellow Americans, _this_," Sue announced, gesturing to Santana, "is your head cheerleader, who has rather foolishly decided that her time is more important than all of ours, and is five minutes late."

"We lost track of time …" Santana started, but Sue held up a hand in her face, not wanting to hear any more.

"Save it," Sue spat viciously, an evil glint in her eye. "On the floor. Push-ups. _Now!_"

Santana looked from Brittany's empathetic smile to Sue's angry scowl and sighed. "How many?"

"About as many as I want you to until I get bored." Sue said. Santana knew that Sue's attention span and boredom threshold fluctuated, and she prayed to every god she knew that Sue was feeling particularly bored. She'd never been able to do push-ups, or real ones anyway; Quinn had always made fun of her for it when the three of them had been on the squad together. She rolled her eyes, got on the floor and started doing push-ups, trying unsuccessfully to block out Sue's incessant ranting and raving.

"You think _this _is hard? Try sous-viding an alligator! _That's_ hard!" _What the hell is this bitch talking about now? _Santana thought, trying to get into some kind of rhythm. It didn't work, and after faceplanting twice, she started cursing Sue for making her do push-ups, while Sue continued to yell, "Straighten your back and keep going! This is absolutely pathetic! You are a lazy idiot! What are you?"

"A lazy idiot." Santana mumbled breathlessly between push-ups. Brittany looked around at the rest of the squad; they all looked confused, listless and uncomfortable, except for Becky, who looked like Christmas had come early.

"So, are you going to turn up late to training again, or are you going to be on my time?" Sue demanded. Brittany looked at her face; she was smiling. Sue was enjoying this.

"I'm going to be on your time." Santana shouted at the ground, hating Sue more and more every minute.

_Why did we agree to this again_, Brittany thought. She desperately wanted to sit on the ground and cheer Santana on – she thought it would be the most cheerful thing anyone would be doing at that practice – but Sue was starting to stare at her. The best she could do to avoid making the situation worse was to send Santana telepathic messages. _Keep going, and think of what you and I are going to do to each other after we get out of here_.

Eventually, Sue got bored and just shook her head in resignation. "Get up," she said. "I can't even look at you right now. Hit the showers." She turned to the rest of the cheerleaders and said, "That goes for the rest of you too. You will all make it up for me by sacrificing a goat and giving me your firstborns to remind you of the time you spent an entire training session _not _actually training, and instead, watching a lazy, unathletic moron dismally attempt to do push-ups."

"She better be joking," Santana said under her breath. She was exhausted, her head was spinning, and she'd been past the point of caring some time after the tenth push up. Brittany giggled softly, hoping Sue hadn't heard them. It was futile; Sue had ears everywhere.

"Contrary to what _you _think, Santana, I am _not_ joking," Sue said. "Your hilariously feeble attempt at push-ups was humorous enough for all of us for the foreseeable future. Now I would suggest that you hit the showers right now, before I call the Ohio secretary of state and arrange to have you sent to Taiwan."

Santana frowned, walking with Brittany towards the showers. She had learned to stop trying to figure out just how many of the ridiculous things this woman said were true. There were still rumours about Sue having taken horse estrogen and posing in Penthouse magazine, and Santana was one thousand percent sure that those rumours had come from Sue herself to mess with people. Sue had also claimed to be thirty, and Santana knew for a fact that if _that _bitch was thirty, then she was the emperor of Japan.

Santana and Brittany got to the locker room first and got in the showers. As they left the room, the other cheerleaders greeted them, giving them each high fives, relieved for the shortest ever training session in years. They walked out of the school grounds, grateful to have not passed Sue, and got in Brittany's car. They sat in silence for at least a minute before Santana spoke up. "Please don't look at me like that."

Brittany frowned. "Like what?"

"_You _know," Santana replied. "Like I'm going to break. I'm fine. I'm just over her shit. I mean, _Taiwan_? Seriously?"

"She's just weird," Brittany said. "I don't know how we're going to fit two goats in this car."

Santana laughed. "Britt, I don't think she was serious about the goat. You know what she's like."

"See, I made you laugh," Brittany bragged. "Want to do something fun tomorrow?"

"What?" Santana asked, frowning.

"I'm auditioning for the musical tomorrow, and you should do it too." Brittany said, excitedly. She hoped Santana would say yes.

"What musical?" Santana asked, curiously, remembering how Mr Schuester had mentioned something about a musical. "I don't think we've ever had a school musical that _didn't_ get canned. Remember how Mr Schue wanted to do _Rocky Horror _even though it was full of sex scenes?"

"_West Side Story_," Brittany said. "And I know you've seen it, cause your mom has the DVD."

"I know, Britt, it's really good," Santana smiled. "But isn't Berry and stuff going in it?"

"Yeah, Mercedes and Kurt are trying out for it too," Brittany explained. "Berry wants to be Maria, but I think Maria is meant to be Puerto Rican, so I don't know how that works. It doesn't make a lot of sense."

"Wait, did you say _tomorrow_?" Santana asked. Her eyes widened when Brittany nodded. "I can't audition tomorrow. I don't have enough time."

"Artie said you just sing a song and read some lines. Piece of cake."

"Yeah, but I can't practise just anything and make it good by tomorrow."

"Let's work on it together at my place," Brittany suggested. She leaned in closer and added, "I might know a fun way to get you motivated, and I might even give you a reward if you're _especially _good."

Santana blushed and flashed Brittany bedroom eyes. "Well, when you put it like _that_, how can I argue with that? _You _should run for president. You're really good at being persuasive."

"Yeah, well, when we get home, you might experience another thing I'm really good at."

~.~

* * *

Considering everyone at school seemed to have an allergic reaction to anything performing arts-related, the _West Side Story_ auditions had a good turnout. Most of the auditionees were freshmen who didn't know any better, but most of the glee club members were there, as well as four girls from the Cheerios. Artie, Ms Pillsbury and Coach Bieste sat behind the desk; Brittany thought they looked hilariously like _American Idol_ judges. Rachel and Kurt were sitting behind Santana and Brittany, incessantly talking about NYADA and their auditions.

"Are you _sure_ I can sing Barbra's song?"

"As Barbra's one true heir, I would be happy to loan you the song for your audition. After all, we need to go to NYADA together!"

The auditionees went up one at a time to sing. Most of the freshmen were terrible and didn't get asked to read lines. Eventually, it was Brittany's turn. She just wanted to audition for chorus so she could be a part of the musical and do all the dance steps and songs without having to learn all of the lines. She sang a few bars of 'Just Around the Riverbend' and performed a dance routine to 'O Verona' from the _Romeo and Juliet _soundtrack. She'd performed it at one of her recitals in the break between freshman and sophomore year, and it had been one of her favourite dances.

Kurt noticed Santana fervently watching Brittany's audition and jokingly asked, "Are you trying to catch flies?"

"Shut up, Hummel," she said, unable to hide the massive, cheesy grin she had. "I'm trying to watch."

When Brittany finished her audition, everyone applauded. She made a beeline for Santana, who hugged her, and she asked, "How was I?"

"Are you kidding? You were amazing," Santana said, excitedly. "Good luck to all these clowns back here. They're _never _going to top that!"

"You really think so?"

"I _know _so!"

Coach Bieste interrupted them and yelled, "Santana! Get up here, sunshine, it's time for you to _sing_!"

Santana walked up to the stage, handed Brad her sheet music and went to stand at the front of the stage. Artie was spraying mouthwash spray into his mouth and flossing his teeth, while Ms Pillsbury smiled sweetly and Coach Bieste jotted down details in her notebook. Brittany was sitting behind them, the biggest and dorkiest grin plastered on her face, beaming with pride.

Coach Bieste cleared her throat and held up her notebook. "When you're ready."

"_Somewhere there's music, how faint the tune. Somewhere there's heaven, how high the moon …_"

Brittany looked back and forth from Santana to the other audience members to Coach Bieste, Artie and Ms Pillsbury. She noticed that Kurt and Rachel seemed very fixated and intrigued by the performance. Coach Bieste was starting to tear up, while Ms Pillsbury smiled and Artie just sat there, somewhat expressionless.

"_The darkest night would shine if you would come to me soon. Until you will how still my heart, how high the moon._"

As Brittany stood to applaud, so did everyone else. Coach Bieste was drying her tears on her polo shirt. "Coach?" Santana frowned.

"I'm sorry, that was just beautiful." Coach Bieste sobbed. Santana blushed and turned to Artie, who said, "Can you read Anita's lines?"

~.~

* * *

Santana was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on making Kurt Hummel's rainbow unicorn posters while Brittany was looking at her so intently with her bedroom eyes. She gave Brittany a bashful smile and said, "What's so funny?"

"I _told _you so." Brittany answered, playfully poking Santana in the ribs.

Santana rolled her eyes. "_Okay_," she whispered. "You were right."

"Huh? What was that?" Brittany laughed.

"I _said_ you were right!" Santana laughed, grabbing one of the sparkly pens they were using and drawing a love heart on Brittany's face. Brittany squealed, grabbed both of Santana's hands and pinned her to the floor.

"_Pinned ya again_." Brittany whispered.

"Oh, you weren't playing around." Santana said, softly and sensually. "You know what would make this even more fun?"

"What?"

"If these posters had _your_ face on them," Santana said. "And then you'd be the president."

"Santana …"

"No, Britt, I'm serious! You're the one doing all the work, you came up with this whole campaign. You'd be a great president."

"I don't know," Brittany sat up and shrugged. "I mean, Kurt really wants it, and he's the most unicorn of them all. Even though the poster he wanted was about as fun as that time Sue made us watch her colonoscopy footage instead of _The Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders_."

~.~

* * *

**A/N: I just wanted to address a minor detail in this story. As this is a season 3 fic through a Brittana lens, I have used female pronouns for Coach Bieste here. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"Britt, can you make _me _a unicorn poster? I want to put one in my room!" Tiffany Pierce squealed with excitement, finally hit with the sugar rush of her dessert.

"You can have one of _these _ones if you want." Brittany said, picking up one of her new campaign posters from the kitchen bench to give to Tiffany.

"Timmy J wants to be our class president. He asked me to vote for him and get other people to vote for him, but his hair looks stupid, so I said no." Tiffany said.

"Tiffany, don't be mean to Timmy J. I think he wants to be your friend, and his parents just got a pool," Whitney Pierce interrupted. She turned to her older daughter and asked, "So, you just did this in art class?"

Brittany laughed. "It was this or make a sculpture of a foot." She shuddered. Mrs Perkins, her usual art teacher, had been on a wellness retreat, so they had a sub, who was so disorganised that he'd drawn a picture of his own foot and told the class to make a sculpture of it. "Tiff, it's your turn to feed the cat."

Tiffany's jaw dropped. "Is not!"

"I fed him last night," Brittany protested. "And don't you want him to like us both equally?"

"Fine!" Tiffany huffed, picking Lord Tubbington up off the kitchen counter he had jumped onto and taking him towards his food bowl.

"Timmy J?" Brittany frowned, making her mother laugh.

"He's harmless. Little shaggy-haired thing. Always wears his hat backwards but he's really polite to you if you run into him at the grocery store." Whitney explained. Brittany laughed, thinking of a _different _shaggy-haired kid wearing a backwards hat and a heart of gold she once knew in elementary school, one who grew up into a beautiful and talented yet secretly dorky seventeen-year-old with a heart of gold who was managing her presidential campaign and who she was frequently making out with. Just thinking about her made Brittany start to blush. She couldn't let Tiffany see that, but she also couldn't let Tiffany live it down that Timmy J had a huge crush on her.

"Hey Tiff?" Brittany called out, grinning.

"What?"

"If you marry Timmy J, do we get an invite?" Brittany laughed.

"I am never, ever going to marry Timmy J! I don't ever want to get married, ever!" Tiffany shouted, while Brittany burst out laughing and her mother gave her a raised eyebrow.

"What?" Brittany smirked.

"You shouldn't tease your sister, Brittany," Whitney said, giving Brittany a knowing smile. "How would you like it if she made jokes like that about you and Santana?"

Brittany's eyebrows shot up, almost disappearing into her hairline. _What does she know_, she thought. _How much does she know? Has she heard something? Were we too loud the other night? And do you think Tiff would let me and Santana be her bridesmaids at her wedding and organise the bachelorette party and scare Timmy J? _She shrugged and said, "I wouldn't care. It's just a joke, Mom. Come on, it was funny."

"Of _course _it was funny, Britt, but that's not the point," Whitney replied as Brittany burst out laughing.

~.~

* * *

"This is great," Maribel Lopez said, enthusiastically eating her lasagne. "And to think I ever worried about you going off to college and eating nothing but ramen and cereal."

"Wow, thanks Mom," Santana replied sarcastically. Unlike her mother, she was absentmindedly poking her dinner with her fork, which wasn't lost on her mother. "I didn't actually make it. I just put it in the oven."

"You've hardly touched yours. You haven't got another headache, have you?" Maribel asked, frowning. She thought Santana had been awfully quiet since going back to school; maybe even before going back to school.

Santana shook her head. It wasn't untrue, but she also hadn't told her mother about what she'd gotten up to with Quinn, how she'd gotten high and how the police officer had treated them, and she didn't want to worry or disappoint her mother. That incident occupied her mind a lot when she wasn't thinking about Brittany; how proud she was of Brittany, how grateful she was that Brittany had trusted her enough to run her presidential campaign, how guilty she felt for being too scared to announce to everyone she cared about how much she loved Brittany Susan Pierce, and what would happen if she told her family about it. For as long as she could remember, she'd lived in a state of perpetual anxiety, but she was usually better at hiding it from people who weren't Brittany, and ever since school started up again, her thoughts had become more intrusive than they had ever been before.

Maribel knew that there had to be something going on, but she didn't press the issue; instead, she changed the subject. "Anything interesting happen at school?"

Again, Santana shook her head. "Not much," she said. "I think I'm meant to find out if I got into the musical soon."

"That's exciting! Your abuela will be thrilled. I told her you were auditioning." Maribel said, proudly.

"Yeah, well, I hope you didn't tell her that I said I'd say the rosary with her every day for a month if I get the part." Santana replied, still moving her food around her plate with her fork.

"Why would you say _that_?" Maribel asked, frowning. "_I _don't even remember the full rosary anymore. I haven't done it since I was your age."

_This is it_, Santana thought. _Maybe I can tell her now. _"Mom?"

"Yes, mija?"

Santana cleared her throat. "Mom, I'm …" She started to speak but she couldn't finish the sentence. Her mother was looking intently at her, her face concerned and thoughtful. "Um, I'm going to be Brittany's campaign manager. She's running for president."

Maribel smiled, trying not to look confused. _That's all_, she thought, wondering if there could be more to it. _I thought it was something serious. Still, I'm glad that she has Brittany. _"That's wonderful," she said, cheerfully. "Brittany would be a great president. She's great at keeping _you_ in line."

_Did I seriously just almost come out to my mother_, Santana thought. _I could have told her about me and Britt, but I didn't. What a terrible idea._ She barely got through dinner with her mother, forcing herself to shovel lasagne into her mouth and volunteering to wash the dishes to get out of having a conversation, before skulking upstairs to her bedroom, getting ready to sleep and curling up into a ball in her bed. That dreaded, drowning feeling was back, but this time, Brittany wasn't there to save her from it.

Her mother was, though. She figured she must have been loud enough for her mother to hear her, run into her bedroom, sit up in bed next to her and soothingly rub her back. She heard her mother whisper, "Baby, you're here, you're safe," in a calm voice. At least, she thought that was what her mom was saying. Everything she heard was muffled, as if she was underwater and disconnected from reality.

_Quinn, Sue, Becky and Zizes would be having a field day if they could see you now_, she thought. _Get your damn shit together, you idiot!_

But she couldn't. Her mother's fingers in her hair made her eyes heavy, but she still couldn't regulate her own breathing. The only thing she could do was stay in the foetal position, still not fully asleep, until morning.

Santana got out of bed at half past six the next day, recoiling as she looked in the mirror, taking in the puffy eyes and the dark circles underneath them. She splashed water on her face, made herself a bowl of cereal and stared at it for a good twenty minutes. She checked her phone; there was a picture of Charlie the Unicorn from Brittany, which she smiled at, and a message from Quinn that read, _Spider's good if you want to come over to his place again._ She shook her head in disbelief and typed, _No, not interested._

The first thing her mother said to her that morning was, "I'm picking you up from school this afternoon. Be ready to leave straight after school finishes." Santana looked at her mother blankly.

Maribel sighed. "I've made you a doctor's appointment, _mija_. I'm worried about you."

It was the first time Maribel had driven Santana to school since the beginning of junior year, when Brittany got her licence and it wasn't cool to get the bus. Cheerios training wasn't on that morning, so Santana went straight to the choir room. Glee club wasn't on that morning either, so Mr Schuester was there by himself. Nervously, Santana cleared her throat to get his attention.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I want to come back to glee club," Santana said, earnestly. He started to open his mouth to speak, so she added, "Please? Sue doesn't know I'm here."

Mr Schuester hesitated for a second before nodding. "If I let you back in, there's got to be some changes, okay?"

"Fine," Santana said. "I'll practise every day and I'll try not to yell at Berry so much."

Mr Schuester smiled. "Great," he said. "You'll need to come to our extra dance practice this afternoon after school, though."

Santana's face fell. "This afternoon?" She asked, and he nodded. "I can't make it. My mom is making me go to … never mind." When Mr Schuester frowned and opened his mouth to talk, she hastily said, "It's fine, Mr Schue. Forget about it."

"Santana, I'm not going to kick you out of glee club again just because you have to be somewhere," Mr Schuester said, still frowning from confusion. "Just get Brittany or someone to show you the dance, practise it, and show me tomorrow."

"Thanks Mr Schue." Santana said, breathing a sigh of relief.

~.~

* * *

"Did he let you back in?" Brittany asked. She and Santana were sticking the last lot of campaign posters to the door of the auditorium. Santana nodded. "That's awesome! You get to learn the dance we're doing then. Mercedes said it's super hard, but it's not that bad."

"I won't be there this afternoon. I have a doctor's appointment," Santana explained. She could see Brittany start to look worried, and she didn't want Brittany to know that her panic attacks were starting to get more frequent, so she quickly said, "Um, it's no big deal, just a check-up, but the only time they could do it was right after school."

Brittany shrugged. "Okay," she said. "Just come over to my place afterwards and I'll teach you the dance."

Eventually, they put up the last poster. The bell rang, and they both went to Ms Hagberg's history class and tried to pay attention to her lecture on Tsar Nicholas and Rasputin. Santana tried not to laugh when Brittany stealthily passed her a note that said, _if Mr Schue were teaching this class, he'd have made us sing that Boney M song and perform an opera version of Anastasia_. It was too difficult; Brittany had hit the nail on the head there.

After the bell rang for the end of the day, Brittany walked out to the front of the school with Santana, even though she had a glee club rehearsal she needed to be at. Maribel Lopez was already waiting at the front gate. She gave Maribel a friendly wave before hugging Santana goodbye.

"Call me tonight?"

"Definitely. See you later, Britt."

Brittany wanted more than anything to kiss Santana goodbye, but there was no way she was going to do that in front of Santana's mother.

After Brittany left to go to glee club rehearsals, everything became a blur. Santana barely said two words to her mother, and couldn't even remember the name of her doctor, even though he had a nameplate on his desk.

The only thing she remembered him saying was right before she left his office, when he said, "You're a senior, right? It's fine. You're fine. Every senior goes through little bouts of anxiety every now and then. Come back if it gets _really _bad."

~.~

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter. I hope to have the next chapter up as soon as possible, so keep calm and ship Tiff Pierce and Timmy J. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"When did Artie say he was posting up the cast list again?" Santana asked, while frantically scribbling the last sentence of her English essay. It was their lunch period, and she and Brittany were sitting across from Mike and Tina in the cafeteria.

"This afternoon," Tina answered. "I wonder who's going to get Maria?"

"I don't know. But you _know_ Berry's going to go apeshit if she doesn't get it," Santana replied, shoving her English essay at Mike. "Does this make any sense?"

Mike laughed. "When's it due?"

"In about fifteen minutes." Santana replied, not looking at him. Tina and Mike looked at each other and giggled.

"When did you start it?" Brittany asked.

Santana frowned and checked the time on her phone. "About twenty minutes ago."

"I can't read your writing …" Mike started, narrowing his eyes to try and read Santana's untidy scrawl, before Brittany grabbed the essay off him and started reading it. He turned to Brittany and incredulously asked, "You can _read _that?"

Brittany just shrugged. "Yeah, it's easy. This is good," she said, but Santana wasn't paying attention; she and Tina were staring, mouths agape, at Mercedes, who had just walked into the cafeteria and had walked right past their table as if she didn't know them. "I can't believe she just, you know, left."

"I mean, she does sort of have a point," Tina piped up. "Not saying I want to leave, but Mr Schue _does_ give Rachel all the solos all the time. And when he doesn't, she just complains about it, so I think he's just giving them to her so she won't complain."

"Yeah, and how come Berry didn't have to go to Booty Camp?" Santana asked, frowning.

"Mr Schue said it was mainly for people who need extra help with their dancing," Mike explained, as Tina and Brittany subtly coughed Finn's name. "But everyone wants to win, so the smart thing to do is go to Booty Camp and do extra practice. I don't know why she doesn't just come. The only other person who hasn't is Artie, and he's busy with the musical."

"Speak of the devil," Tina said, as Artie joined their table. She turned to him and asked, "So, any updates on the musical?"

Artie shook his head. "I can't tell you anything. That would destroy my integrity as a director."

"Come on, Artie, we're your friends. Spill." Brittany protested.

Artie just shook his head and started eating his lunch. "Are you? I _dated _two of you," he said. He looked at Mike and Tina and started to say, "_You _dated _her _after me, and _you_ …" He got to Santana and Brittany and cut himself off. Even though at the time he'd been angry that they'd hooked up behind his back, he was over it, and certainly not bitter enough to publicly out them. "You know what? You're right. We're all friends. Which is why I'm going to tell you that the cast list goes up after lunch and you'll find out with everyone else."

"So, you're not even the teensiest bit interested in seeing the looks on our faces when you tell us who got Maria?" Santana asked him, raising an eyebrow.

For a moment, it looked like Artie was considering it, but he shook his head fervently and went back to eating his lunch. "No, not at all."

They all sat in silence for a moment before Tina, out of the blue, said, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"

Santana shook her head. "We're _not _going to sing, Girl Chang," she said. "We're in the middle of the cafeteria."

Mike ignored her and, in a sing-song voice, added, "How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?"

Santana leaned in closer to him, grabbed his arm and pointed at his watch. "You do AP Calculus, right, Boy Chang?" She hissed at him, and he nodded, frowning. "Good. _This _should make sense to you. You see the time? This means that we have another ten minutes of our lunch period. We have to _survive_ the next ten minutes of our lunch break without any of us getting a slushy facial because you and Girl Chang over here randomly decided to turn our table into a fucking _Austrian_ _convent_!"

This time, Artie joined in. "How do you find a word that means Maria?"

"Artie, I swear to _fucking _God …" Santana snapped at him, trying to be intimidating.

"Brittany, tell Santana she's ruining our fun." Mike laughed, almost in a mock-whine.

"Why would I do that?" Brittany answered, deadpan and shrugging. Before anyone could say anything else, Quinn came up to their table and grabbed Santana by the hand, almost dragging her off her chair.

"Q, what the hell?" Santana yelped, before Quinn shushed her.

"I need to talk to you. Privately." Quinn said, calmly.

"Right, because yanking my arms off is totally going to give you _privacy_ …"

"Stop being such a baby. I barely _touched_ you," Quinn said, rolling her eyes as she led Santana out of the hallway and into an empty classroom. "I need a favour." As Santana crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at her, Quinn explained, "I need you to come to Shelby's house with me."

"Why?" Santana asked, wondering if Quinn had always been this unhinged, or if she was just noticing it for the first time. She figured it was probably the latter; she'd been there when Quinn broke down in their hotel room in New York, and all through her prom queen drama with Finn, not to mention that insane story she made up about getting mono.

"I made a mistake giving Beth up," Quinn said, the desperation rampant in her voice. "I want her back, but I need you to help me."

"Yeah, no," Santana said, fervently shaking her head. "Look Q, I'll hang out with you. I'll smoke up with you. I'll pretend to not be grossed out by your boyfriend, even though he looks like Charles Manson. I'll even get smacked around by the cops with you. But I'm _not_ doing this."

Quinn smirked. "You're chicken."

"Get a life."

"You're proving my point. The only reason you won't do it is cause you're chicken."

Santana was so close to telling Quinn exactly where to get off, before Brittany came up to her with her books and her English essay. "You don't want to hand this in late, do you?"

"Thanks Britt." Santana glared at Quinn to indicate that the conversation was over, before going to her English class, handing in her essay, and sitting in the back corner of the class, a new habit she'd formed in classes she didn't have with Brittany. She spent the entire English class simultaneously trying not to fall asleep and waiting for something remotely interesting to happen while Mrs George crapped on about _The Taming of the Shrew_. Her attempts to avoid engaging with the lesson weren't lost on Mrs George, who put her on the spot.

"Santana," Mrs George called out, making Santana jolt up in her seat. "How would you describe Petruchio's character, in terms of his attitude towards Katherina?"

"Um," Santana started, clearing her throat to give herself time to think. _Crap, everyone in this play sucks. Which one was Petruchio again? Oh, right, he's the jerk who tames the shrew._ "Oh him? Yeah, he's an asshole."

Some of the other students' jaws dropped, not used to hearing anyone curse in class. Mrs George's lips started to purse and her eyes started to narrow, but Santana kept talking. "I mean, he doesn't even let her breathe, he's always criticising her, he won't let her have her own opinions. The guy's a dick."

Mrs George just sighed and said, "Principal's office. Now!"

_Thank you, Jesus_, Santana thought, picking up her folder and her copy of the play, and making the short walk to Principal Figgins' office. Principal Figgins was in the middle of a phone call and just gave her a look as if to say, _what have you done now? _Mrs George hadn't given her any work to do, so Santana just sat on Figgins' couch and texted Brittany before Mr Schuester came into the office. He looked at Santana and frowned, "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

Santana shrugged. "I got sent out of English class."

"Why?"

"I may or may not have used some descriptive language about some of the characters of _The Taming of the Shrew _that Mrs George didn't exactly appreciate."

Mr Schuester sighed. _Come on Mrs George_, he thought. _She was so obviously trying to get sent out. She's actually gloating. _"Okay, you're going to come with me to the choir room," he started. He saw her start to open her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "You're going to talk me through the plot of this play for ten minutes _without _curse words, and then you're going _back _to Mrs George. Capiche?"

Santana looked from Principal Figgins, who was putting on a pair of hideous anti-embolism stockings, and Mr Schuester's disappointed dad face, and just hung her head in resignation. "Do I even have a choice?" She rolled her eyes as Mr Schuester smugly shook his head and she got up and followed him to the choir room. "Okay, it's the world's most boring play. Everyone in it is gross. This dude wants to marry this girl, but he can't, because her older sister isn't married, and no one wants to marry her, cause everyone thinks she's annoying and basically a nasty piece of work. So, this other gross dude, Petruchio, tries to 'tame' her, and then he feeds her complete bullshit and forces her to believe it and pretty much Stockholm Syndromes her, and _then _he embarrasses her on their wedding day because he's trying to prove a point and he always has to be right. And I'm _aware _that I just cussed, Mr Schue, but this play is condescending garbage and I don't know why we have to read it."

Mr Schuester just sat, gobsmacked, on the piano stool. _I only have so many hours of planning time in a day and this is apparently what I choose to spend it on_, he thought. _The Taming of the Shrew really sucks, and I want the last minute of my life back._ "So, did you get yourself kicked out of Mrs George's class on purpose?"

"Yeah," Santana replied, shrugging. "It's a thing I do."

"Well, you can go back to Mrs George now," Mr Schuester said, not amused in the slightest. "Don't let me catch you in that office again."

Santana rolled her eyes before walking back to Mrs George's classroom, trying not to smirk as the English teacher shook her head with disapproval as she walked in. When the bell went, Mrs George made her stay back, handed her a note for her mother to sign and waved her essay in her face. "What is this?" Mrs George asked.

"That's my essay." Santana said.

"No, _this _is laziness," Mrs George replied, far from pleased. "This isn't an essay, this is a big neon sign that says 'Flunk Me, I'm Lazy'."

Santana bit her lip, nervously. The play they were reading wasn't interesting at all, but she also didn't want to fail English. "Are you going to?"

"Not if I don't get a repeat performance of today," Mrs George drawled, her eyes scanning the essay. "But I might have to if you keep giving me work that looks like this."

"Great, Mrs George. Can I go now?"

Mrs George nodded. The second Santana walked out of the classroom, Tina and Brittany bolted to the door, almost dragging a nonchalant Mike, and chanted, "Artie's putting up the cast list!"

In that moment, Santana completely forgot all about Mrs George and started following Artie with the others, and mentally bargaining with every deity she knew of. _All right God, Jesus and Beyonce_, she thought. _I'll go to church with abuela, say the rosary every night, I'll even try to put up with my dad if you give me this one thing._ She saw her own name next to 'Anita', and Brittany pulled her into a hug. She didn't even care that she'd have to act like she was married to Puck, or that Kurt had got the Officer Krupke part instead of the Tony part like he wanted. She didn't even care that she'd mentally agreed to do Catholic things with her abuela or pretend to tolerate her dad. She was going to be in the musical with Brittany, and it was the first time since her senior year started that things were looking up.

"Guess what?" Brittany said, excitedly, as she and Santana were walking to the parking lot. "Principal Figgins called my mom. We're getting an exchange student."

"Serious? Since when?"

"You know that girl from the academic quiz team who got rubella last year?" Brittany asked. Santana nodded. "Yeah, her parents were meant to take him, but her whole family got the chickenpox, so they can't take him anymore."

"Where are you going to put him?" Santana asked.

"The basement. Mom already started decorating it. She got him a green comforter so he wouldn't feel homesick."

"Classic Whitney!"

"You know it."

~.~

* * *

"… _just think that you're being selfish, Maribel! I'm uprooting myself because I've been given a huge promotion, and all you can talk about is yourself!"_

"_That's bullshit, Cuevas, and you know it!"_

"_It's not bullshit if it's true!"_

"_You just waltz in here uninvited and suddenly you're moving here. Did you even bother to think about how this affects your own daughter?"_

Santana had seen her father's car out the front of their house and was bracing for a fight. Sure enough, a screaming match was happening in the kitchen, while her abuela sat on the couch, completing a jigsaw puzzle.

"Abuelita," Santana greeted, sitting on the couch next to her grandmother. "When did _he _get here?"

"I don't know, mi amor." Alma Lopez replied.

"They're deafening the neighbours."

"Ray has a new job, Santanita."

"Yeah, I got that," Santana said, almost too cheekily. Her abuela flicked her on the ear. "_Sorry_. But what's the big deal?"

"He's moving _here_. To Lima."

As Santana heard Alma's words, all the air escaped her lungs, and her head involuntarily moved from side to side. _Why does he have to ruin everything? _She thought. _I just want him to go back to Cincinnati where I don't have to see him or think about him. _She couldn't even look at her mother as she and her father came out of the kitchen.

"Mija, I didn't hear you come in," Maribel said. "Your English teacher called. Apparently, I have to sign something?"

Santana pulled a pen and Mrs George's note out of the front pocket of her backpack and handed them to her mother.

"What have you done now?" Raymond Cuevas snapped. Santana ignored him and pointed at the dotted line on the note.

"Can you just sign it, please?" She asked, almost desperately.

"Just a minute," Maribel replied, while scanning the note. She read, "Santana was sent out of English class for use of inappropriate language and deliberate defiance. _What?_"

As Alma grabbed the newspaper next to her and hit her granddaughter over the head with it, Ray rolled his eyes. He turned to Maribel and said, "Seriously? This is how you parent our daughter? She pulls this crap on _me _and it's Adderall and boarding school. None of that wishy-washy feelings shit."

Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, _this_," she said, gesturing at her father and then back at herself. "This isn't going to work."

"You think you're _so _fucking smart, don't you Santana?" Ray snarled.

"Ray …" Maribel started to say, but Ray cut her off.

"No, Maribel, _our _daughter is an insolent little bitch, and it's like you don't care."

_I need to get the fuck out of here_, Santana thought. She got up, picked up her backpack and, in the most sugary-sweet and sarcastic tone possible, said, "Yeah, I'm just going to go. Stay classy, Ray."

She could hear her mother's insistence that the conversation wasn't over. She could hear her abuela threaten to throw a chair. She could hear her father blame her mother for her getting sent out of English. She didn't care. Part of her was proud of herself for resisting the urge to tell her father to go to hell. She just needed to get to the one person who could make her day good again.

Someone had once told Santana that the opposite of love wasn't hate, it was indifference. She wondered when her default emotion towards her father would progress from loathing to apathy.

~.~

* * *

"Britt," Santana said. "_I'm _the shrew."

The two of them had been sitting in the bathtub for at least twenty minutes.

"A what?" Brittany asked, frowning. _What even is a shrew? _She thought. _Is it some kind of furry animal? That doesn't make sense. If Santana was any kind of furry animal, she'd probably be a cat._

"That play we're reading in English. _The Taming of the Shrew_." Santana explained.

"Oh," Brittany replied, still confused. "Our English class is doing _Flowers for Algernon_."

Santana frowned. "Which one was that?"

"You know that one episode of _The Simpsons _where Homer gets a crayon removed from his brain and becomes super smart but gets more and more depressed the more he finds out that his world isn't built for smart people?" Brittany asked, and Santana nodded. "That's pretty much what happens in the book."

Santana yawned, physically and mentally drained. The wall tiles surrounding the bathroom shower were becoming more and more foggy and distorted. "I just don't get it."

"_Flowers for Algernon_?"

"No, my _dad_. I just don't get why he had to move _here _of all places. Surely there's some other medical centre somewhere else that he could work at. One in another city, or another state, or on the moon?"

Brittany frowned. "Do you think they have hospitals on the moon?" She asked, partly because she wanted to make Santana feel less stressed, and also partly because she was suddenly genuinely curious about the possibility of a society on the moon that contained all the facilities people patronised on Earth.

"You know what the worst part is?" Santana asked, Brittany's attempt at deflection going completely over her head. Brittany shook her head. "I didn't even get to tell my mom and my abuela that I got the part in the musical."

"So, you can tell them tomorrow," Brittany suggested. "And your dad won't be there to ruin it."

~.~

* * *

**A/N: As always, thank you for reading this chapter, and I look forward to updating this story and my others soon. I have a future/adult-Brittana (post-show but not future from now) AU coming out soon that I just need to finish, so be sure to look out for that. I didn't do **_**The Taming of the Shrew**_**, but my brother did (we had to do a different Shakespeare play every year for English except in year 10 when we did **_**Oedipus Rex **_**instead … to this day I'm still not sure which was worse).**


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